The Cost of Living
by WalkingDeadGirl79
Summary: While searching for Sophia, Rick and Daryl are taken hostage by a mysterious woman with unknown intentions. (My first fan fiction but I hope you enjoy. I was always curious about the events that occurred during Sophia's disappearance and this story takes place during that time. I've included original OC's as well. Currently working on chapter three.)
1. Chapter 1

His head falls forward, the ragged wire around his neck cutting into flesh, rubbing the skin raw with every slight movement. Rick Grimes closes his eyes, his wife's voice reverberating between his ears, the pain evident in her staggered words. Don't go.

"Hey, lift your head up man," Daryl Dixon's voice wavers from somewhere to his right. "You'll choke."

The corners of Rick's mouth twitch as his head slips lower, the thin cord meeting its limit, refusing to relent against the rigid muscles in his neck. The pressure builds behind his eyes first, the wire beginning to constrict his wind pipe, limiting his air flow. His eyelids weigh a ton each ; he's succumbing to his own shallow breathing. Rick welcomes the slinking darkness, the numbing of his limbs, the freedom from guilt of losing that little girl...

Daryl's size 12 slams into the side of Rick's calf. "Cut that shit out." The jolt sends a fresh slice into Rick's neck, forcing him upright, small gasps escaping his throat as he gulps down air by the mouthfuls. He feels the fresh tear in his skin as a sticky warmth trickles down the side of his neck.

"There you go," Satisfied the cop isn't going to off himself next to him, Daryl leans his head back against the beam he's tied to, once again focusing his attention on freeing his wrists. He would have given anything to have Merle beside him instead of this pussy cop, but then again, if Merle would have been with him, they wouldn't be tied to a pole in a dilapidated barn with a psychotic bitch hiding somewhere.

"I'm sorry," Rick whispered, his voice sore and rough.

"Don't be sorry, just help me figure a way outta here," Darryl tugs at the knot around his wrists, clawing at the thick rope that bound his hands together. "We ain't got time to sleep."

She gathers the one with the five o'clock shadow is "Rick" and his redneck friend is "Daryl", but every time she strains to hear more, their voices return to hushed whispers. From her corner of the barn, her vision adjusts to the darkness, allowing her to keep an eye on them, tied to the weight-baring beams, exactly where she had left them.

They must have thought her dim, a single woman, alone, defending her home. They seemed to have a change of heart once she pointed her double-barrel at their chests.

"We had no idea anyone was still living here," the one named Rick had said, his hands poised in the air. "We were just looking for a little girl named Sophia. She was separated from our group when a herd of walkers came through, maybe pick up some supplies on the way back. We'll be on our way now." The other one, Daryl, kept his crossbow aimed directly at her head, refusing to move an inch.

"She's by herself," he said calmly, his eyes never leaving the crosshairs. "I'm sure she can be neighborly and share some with us."

She pointed the shotgun directly at him.

"Whoa! Easy," Rick spoke up. "Let's not do anything crazy now. Not enough of the living left, we don't need to be killing each other."

"I'm not looking to kill anyone," she said without taking her eyes off of Daryl. "But I'm not looking to share either. Don't have much anyway."

The sun beat down on them in the field behind the barn, the blistering heat causing beads of sweat to roll down their backs and off the sides of their faces. She kept her gun pointed at Daryl, he focused his crossbow on her, and Rick stood in between, trying to be the peacemaker. An occasional breeze would shake the dry brittle grass at their feet and the collars of their shirts, but they remained motionless. They were at a stalemate.

"Miss?" Rick said. "Miss, what is your name?"

She blinked twice, opened her mouth, then closed it again. She waved her gun at Daryl. "Tell him to put it down now."

"You must be insane," Daryl said, taking half a step towards her. She matched his movement.

"You have no idea."

"Daryl," Rick said, his voice even and calm. "Put it down."

"Now you're crazy," Daryl replied, a drop of sweat sliding off the tip of nose.

"Please," Rick said stepping directly in front of Daryl's bow. "We aren't going to do this."

The redneck didn't blink, didn't move, and as far as she could tell, didn't breath. He continued to bore holes into her, she imagined he hoped this alone would take her out. She cocked the weapon, the sound barely audible but the meaning crystal clear. He exhaled softly, a low growl chasing his breath. He lowered the crossbow and she took a few paces back, eyeballing the cuffs on Rick's belt.

"Hey cowboy, put those on your friend would you?" She circled them, motioning at the cuffs with her chin. "You seem to have a better head on your shoulders."

Rick and Daryl exchanged glances before Daryl relented and set his crossbow at his feet. Without another word, Rick pulled Daryl's hands behind his back and sets the cuffs in place.

"Looks like we got ourselves a problem," she continued to circle them, keeping her gun at the ready. "I certainly don't trust that you'll simply slink away with your tails between your legs and find some other home to loot and I definitely don't like you enough to invite you into my home." She was trying to buy time, to figure out what she was going to do with them. Unfortunately, her present idea was the best she could come up with. She led them to the old barn on the corner of the property and tied them up to the posts, adding a thin strand of wire around their necks as a precaution. Giving them each a full glass of water, she promised to have this mess figured out by morning.

That was a day and a half ago.

Rick had given her the benefit of the doubt that she really didn't want to harm them. She was just scared, alone, and by that accent, definitely not from around here. She was a transplant from somewhere up north, as far as he could tell probably New York. She's miles away from home, alone, and caught two armed men on, what he guessed was, her property. She had every right to defend herself, anyone would. She would come to and let them go and then they could continue looking for Sophia.

That was a day and a half ago. They were beyond parched, their stomachs rumbled, their muscles burned, and it took every last bit of remaining energy to keep their eyes open.

"You think she's dead?" Daryl spoke up, fighting the blanket of sleep washing over him. Rick turns his head towards his partner, only able to see his outstretched leg and left elbow. "Hope not," Rick laughed in spite of himself. "I'll have a hell of a time finding my gun."

"Shoot," Daryl huffs, his fingers cramping, muscles aching from the futile attempt at untying the ropes . "I'll turn this place upside down to find my baby girl. I ain't leavin' without her."

Of course he named that bow, Rick thought, turning his attention to the darkness once again, letting the crickets, frogs, and the rest of the night's noises fill his head. When he was around six he would try to name each and every insect, each and every sound, the act, lulling him to sleep when his father was out working late. He thought better of doing that now, forcing himself to stay awake, the sting of the fresh wound on his neck serving as a reminder why it was dangerous to shut his eyes, even for a moment.

He decides to concentrate on the farm house off in the distance, the moonlight vibrant, completely surrounding it in its silver radiance, acting as a beacon in the darkness. There is a massive tree in the front yard, he can't make out what kind, but it sways gently in the heat, almost waving him in, welcoming him. He imagines bringing Lori, Carl, and the rest of the group there, setting up a safe haven, changing their situation from surviving to thriving and doing exactly what they expected of him. No more deaths. No more being afraid. Simply living out the rest of their lives in peace and as normal as humanly possible.

Shadows dash across the field, ghosts playing hide and seek, away from the eyes of the living. Rick tries and follow their movement as they change shape and bounce in and out of view. He catches sight of one as it takes on a more solid shape, moving slower than the others but definitely moving and with purpose. He slams his eyes shut, trying to clear them of any dust or debris that may be causing him to see things, hoping that when he opens them again...

It continues to move towards the barn, a slow, lingering movement, and behind that one, another follows, and that one is followed by another. Rick spots them dotted across the field all stumbling forward. He closes his eyes again, weeding out the crickets, katydids, and tree frogs, straining to hear what he absolutely doesn't want to hear.

Almost consumed by the evening's white noise, a low gurgling moan latches onto the tepid night breeze, and with it the foul smell of rotting flesh. Rick straightens up, the sounds of the undead mixing in with the night, so clear and vivid now, how had he not noticed before? His heart slams into his chest with such force, he's sure it's what draws their attention, calling them to their location, beckoning them closer as clearly as a gunshot.

Rick catches his breath for the second time that night as he struggles against his restraints, the chorus of the undead as sobering as a cold shower. "Daryl," his whisper barely audible. After a few seconds without a response, he turns his head as much as the wire will allow and tries again. "Daryl!"

"What?!" Daryl growls. When Rick fails to respond, Daryl opens his mouth to speak but stops himself, catching a whiff of the all too familiar smell of death growing stronger every second. "Shit."

They almost simultaneously pull their legs into their chests, slowing their breathing, wracking their brains for a plan. They continue their assault on the ropes, dragging the fibers against the beams, hoping that with enough friction it would begin to unravel.

I'm not going out like this, Daryl thought, slamming his weight into the beam. He'll take the shack out first. He hadn't come as far as he's come, seen as much as he seen, lost as much as he's lost to be handed over on a plate to a bunch of drooling geeks. His brother would never forgive him. She'd never forgive him.

Rick, following suit, digs his heels into the dirt floor and presses his back into the beam, plastering all his weight against it, every jerk of the beam, tightening his metal collar. He had given this woman too much credit, assumed she still had all her wits about her, assumed she would let them go once she saw they weren't a threat. Instead, she was leaving them to die, initially from thirst, hunger, or exposure but now, a gruesome, painful death; being torn apart while struggling to escape.

"Shhhhh!" A small shadow darts in front of them, running to the opening of the barn. They recognize her immediately as she cradles the rifle against her chest like a new born. "Shit, shit, shit!"

She was here the whole time? Rick thought.

"You was here the whole time?" Daryl hisses.

"Mostly," she whispers. "Now shut up."

She could make out five of them, all headed directly towards the barn. The most she had taken out at one time was two, but this was different. They were all crowded together and the rifle would only alert more. Her home would be overrun in no time.

She looks at the two men squirming against their restraints, even in the dim moonlight, she could see the desperation on their faces.

"Let us go," Rick says. "We can help you."

"Shut up," she replies, staring out into the night. They could be of help to her. She could wait until the walkers were feasting on the men, sneak up on them from behind, and then take them out as they devoured the intruders.

"There's too many of them," Rick tries again.

"I said shut up!" she runs past Rick and Daryl towards the back of the barn.

"Where you going?" Daryl calls out in full voice. The dead are close enough to hear and their hungering cries increase and echo throughout the field.

She's back in seconds, standing before them with a pair of machetes, her face hidden in shadow.

Rick's breath catches in his throat, the danger no longer outside. He watches her closely, following her as far as he could as she walks around once and then comes to a complete stop in front of them. "Whatever you're thinking of doing, please don't," Rick's mind is racing as the woman kneels down between them, the glint of the blade flashing against Daryl's shirt. "My name's Rick Grimes. I have a family, a wife, Lori, and a son, Carl. That's Daryl and he-"

"Man, don't be telling this bitch my life story," Daryl says, the hairs rising on the back of his neck as she leans towards him. "Let her do what she's gonna do."

In one movement, she forces Daryl's head to the side with her hand and with a pair of cutters, snaps the piece of wire around his neck. She follows with a slice to the rope tying his hands to the post with the machete. Bringing her face to his, she shoves the handle of the blade into his hand. "Know how to use this?" Daryl answers with a slight nod. "Well get to work. Your friend and I will be right behind you."

Daryl watches as she repeats her actions on Rick, freeing him in seconds and equipping him with the other machete. She jumps up and runs passed Daryl, disappearing into the back of the barn again. "Crazy bitch," he mutters, using the beam for support as he slides up it, his legs protesting under his weight. He looks over at Rick, then past him as the first geek enters the barn, its face half melted and drooping. It turns towards Rick, soft wheezes escape its broken smile.

"Let's get to work," Daryl says, raising the machete high over his head and driving it down, straight into the skull of the walker. It immediately falls silent as he shoves his boot into its ribs and kicks it free of his blade. Rick walks over it and charges the next walker, forcing it onto the ground. It claws at his face and arms, scraping for any bit of flesh. Rick straddles its chest, letting his weight keep the rabid walker in place. Taking the tip of the machete, he places it in the center of the snapping geek's forehead and in one motion, brings it down, clearing the bone and brain. Its arms fall to its sides, its body completely still.

Two more pile into the barn, the taller of the two hungrily lunges towards Daryl, its hands clotted stumps. It rushes Daryl, causing him to drop the machete, pinning him against the wall, a piece of a rotted plank digging into his back. "Aarrgh!" Daryl cries out as the walker bites the air in front of his face. Breathing heavily as the plank begins piercing the skin under his right shoulder blade, he pushes the geek back a few steps, enough to attempt to dislodge the plank from his back. Stabilizing itself, the walker finds its footing and charges him again. Daryl slides off the ragged piece of wood and drops to the floor. The walker falls onto it at full speed, the plank ripping its way through its stomach, coming out the other side, covering Daryl in its dark fluid and the rancid contents of its last meal. It flails against the plank, legs and arms moving in succession, every movement driving it further and further down the wood. Daryl crawls out from underneath the walker as it turns and reaches for him again, weak snarls escaping its throat. Picking up the machete, and now covered in its sticky insides, Daryl repeatedly brings it down against the back of the geeks' neck, chipping away at it, the mushy flesh giving way to the heavy blows. In moments the head topples off the walker's body and onto the floor by Daryl's feet. Daryl lifts his foot and smashes the walker's face in, almost liquefying the remains under his heel.

The other landed on top of Rick, sandwiching him face first against the walker he just killed. Angry hands claw at his face and neck, the stench gagging him, ripping tears from his eyes. He reaches back and grabs a clump of its hair and yanks hard but his grip comes free as a chunk of scalp and hair is left in his hand. He tries again, this time grasping a whole handful but its weight has doubled as it continues howling in his ear. Its movement suddenly ceases as its yanked off of him. Rick quickly rolls onto his side in time to see the woman pulling the walker off of him as Daryl extends his left hand toward him. "I told you this ain't no time for sleeping."

Daryl helps him up, wincing slightly under the pull of Rick's body. Rick notices the pain on his friend's face and feels the color draining from his own.

"You alright?" he asks, placing a hand on his Daryl's shoulder. Shrugging it off, Daryl takes a step back. "Yeah it's just a flesh wound."

The woman turns her back on the outside world and glares at the men. "If you're bit..."

Daryl turns towards her, anger flaring in every part of his body. "You'll what?"

A pair of swollen hands fly around the woman and drag her backwards. She falls onto the walker and flails wildly against it. Her knife flies out of her hand and disappears into the grass as the walker begins chewing on her hair. Useless against its death hold, she slams her head against its face repeatedly, feeling its nose break and cave into itself. Its grip relaxes slightly and she pushes its arms open, scrambling forward towards the direction of the knife. She searches blindly in the darkness, fingers clawing at dry dirt, finding nothing but more dirt and grass. She can hear its labored breaths behind her as it rights itself, coming after her once again. She needs that knife! She won't die tonight! Not like this!

It grabs her legs and begins climbing her, one hand over the other. She flips over, feral kicks meeting pliable surface as it finds her fleshy inner thigh. It snaps wildly, dragging its teeth across her moist skin. She can feel them watching her, letting her die after what she did to them. Maybe she deserves this.

A dull clang rings out as a shovel head smashes into the walker's face, its cheekbones implode while teeth fly in every direction. Daryl hooks his arms underneath the woman's armpits and pulls her free as Rick finishes off the walker, beating its face in, its distressed gurgling merging with Rick's grunts. Rick jams the shovel into the dirt, leaning against the handle as he attempts to catch his breath, the bloated walker staring blindly up at him. Coughing heavily, Daryl presses his palms against his knees and leans against them, the oppressive heat making it more difficult to recover.

She remains on the ground and stares in bewilderment at the men in front of her; they are barely standing and covered in filth and putrefied pieces. They hadn't left her to die when they could have. Even the redneck, who could have just as easily shot her in the face earlier, pulled her to safety.

Standing up, she brushes the dirt off her hands and the back of her legs and begins walking towards the house. "Max five minute showers each. I need to conserve water." Daryl and Rick fall in line and follow quietly behind her, the cacophony of the night's creatures continuing on without them.


	2. Chapter 2

This was the basic human function Daryl had come to hate the most: sleep. Nothing to kill, nothing to fight, and nothing to distract him from seeing her face when he closed his eyes. He can't remember the last time he had slept for pleasure. Nowadays he fights to stay awake.

He rolls onto his back, kicking off the sleeping bag, and stares at the ceiling. The starch white acts as a perfect canvas, reflecting the colors of early morning; first a dull gray melting into a soft purple that flowed into a subtle pink and orange. They used to lay like this, both being early risers; she would place her head on his chest and he would wrap one arm around her shoulders, closing the gap between them. Normally she was a talker, but in the morning she would duplicate his silence and lie still, watching the morning come. Only when the sun would melt the colors away and wash the world in its golden light, would she then softly kiss him and roll out of bed, starting her musical chatter.

He smiles at the thought of her but it's been so long since he's said her name, he wasn't even sure she was real anymore. His eyes creep closed as she grabs his hand and gently places it on her swollen belly.

"Feel that?" he couldn't decide what was brighter, her glow or her smile. "She's kicking."

A deafening rattle shakes Daryl alert. Sitting up with a jolt, he turns towards the sound that broke through his sleep. His eyes fall on Rick, lying on his stomach in his sleeping bag, sound asleep, a low snore penetrating the stillness in the room.

Inhaling deeply, he tries to calm his racing heart, taking a few attempts before it finally begins to slow down. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his hands come away wet, as a gnawing begins to grow in his chest. No, he won't do this. Not now. He didn't have time. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tosses his pillow at Rick. Mid-snore, Rick lifts his head and looks up, his forehead crinkles in confusion.

"It's dawn," Daryl says, rolling up his sleeping bag. "Time to go."

Rick nods and unzips his sleeping bag. "We'll have to get back to the others first. Let them know we're alright."

"You can," Daryl says, sliding on his damp jeans. He picks up his shirt hanging on the desk chair beside him, takes a quick sniff, and wrinkles his nose. It still reeks of walker juice but the quick laundering would have to do. "I'm headed right out. Try to pick up her trail again."

"I don't think we should split up. Not after this," Rick stands, taking in his surroundings. The small room in the front of the house served as their guest room for the night. It held a faded cherry wood desk, black leather chair, an empty bookcase in one corner, and something that resembled a rusted futon with no cushion. "We really don't know what's out there."

"I do," Daryl says, finishing buttoning up his shirt. "That's why you should have let me take care of her from the beginning. We could have found Sophia by now instead of wasting two damn days."

Rick feels a subtle heat crawl up his spine and prick the back of his neck. He throws his clothes on and pulls on his boots before crossing to the closed door. He hesitates before turning the knob. During the night he had attempted to use the bathroom but found the door had been locked from the other side. He can't handle another delay and certainly didn't want deal with any more growling from Daryl. Plus, he needs to see his family.

"We're not splitting up. I want to find Sophia as much as you do and the second we let the others know we're both ok," Rick stops to let the words sink in, his hand hovering over the knob. "We'll go out again. Hell, stay out all night if you like, but we are doing it together."

Rick hears Daryl puff loudly behind him followed by his heavy footsteps. "I'm getting real tired of this kumbaya crap," Daryl pushes passed Rick and opens the door with ease. "Let's find this chick then and get our stuff."

He hadn't wanted to wait in the house; he wanted to torture the bitch and felt he had every right to, but Rick had thought it wise to go it alone. Daryl had been about to protest when he spotted the pack of cigarettes on the kitchen table. He wished Rick luck but told him to be quick about it.

Daryl steps out onto the front porch and almost immediately starts to sweat, the summer heat wrapping around him like a thick blanket. He takes a seat on the porch swing and slides a cigarette out of the crushed packet, popping one into his mouth. He watches Rick cross the field towards the old horse barn that was their prison a few short hours ago. In full daylight, he sees the extent of its condition; the roof is riddled with holes and moldy shingles, entire panels are missing, and the doors are barely hanging onto their hinges. He finds it hard to believe it hadn't collapsed around them.

It was a complete eyesore, and had this been another time where money still mattered, he and Merle would have knocked it down and had a new one built in its place within a week. Well he would have done most of the work, while Merle hit on whatever had a pair of tits and a case of beer. He laughs quietly, imagining Merle hitting on this woman; she definitely would have tied him to that pole just for looking at her.

Lighting the cigarette, Daryl takes a long drag, closing his eyes as the smoke fills his lungs, letting it hang there a moment before releasing it through a slow exhale. Merle. Why hadn't he waited? In their entire lives together, Daryl had never left him hanging, always bailing him out of one mistake or another. Why had Merle given up on him so easily? Didn't he believe Daryl would have come for him?

He leans back against the swing and uses his foot to push off the railing in front of him, letting the momentum carry him back and forth. Rick had disappeared into the barn only moments ago but if Daryl knew anything about Officer Friendly, he was going to do things the polite way and try not to upset her anymore than she already was. Daryl slumps down into this seat, taking another drag. These are the times Daryl really missed Merle. He wouldn't have gone to talk to this woman. He simply would have popped her in the mouth, taken their stuff, and been on their way. But then again Merle wouldn't have even bothered looking for the girl. Merle usually didn't do anything that didn't benefit him directly.

In the quiet haze of the early morning, Daryl finds himself slipping, thinking about his brother, thinking about their lives before the world went to shit. Thinking about his life...with her.

It had been about six or seven Sunday morning when Daryl received the phone call that he needed to go to the hospital. He didn't bother asking why or what happened, but threw on his clothes, splashed cold water on his face, and jumped into his truck. On his way to the hospital, he ran through a few scenarios Merle could have gotten himself into; probably found himself in a bar fight again after hitting on someone else's girlfriend. Words were probably said, following by pushing and shoving, and maybe a broken bottle or two. After checking in with the receptionist and her less-than-enthused promise that someone would be out to speak with him shortly, he found his favorite spot in the waiting room; a threadbare 1970-something chair in the far corner of the room that had an aroma of mildew mixed with bleach. He imagined someone having either pissed or shit on it and instead of throwing it out they made some middle-aged Mexican lady scrub it clean. Good as new.

Daryl leaned back, folded his arms behind his head, and waited. It seemed to be a slow day in the emergency room so he figured it should be an hour or two before they checked on Merle and another hour or two before they sent someone out to let him know his brother was alright.

The other occupants gathered around the center of the room; a red- headed middle-aged woman holding a pudgy little girl on her lap, an older man attached to an oxygen tank, and a sallow woman who looked as if she should be a patient rather than a visitor.

He hooked the heel of his boot underneath the armrest of the chair across from his and pulled it closer, sliding his foot over and slapping the other one on top of it. Daryl closed his eyes, settling into his seat for what he was sure would be a few hours of peace and...

"Daryl," a soft voice called from somewhere in the darkness. "Daryl Dixon? Merle's brother?"

Daryl jerked upright, slipping to the edge of his seat, his heart thudding wildly behind his ribcage.

"Whoa, easy!" the voice laughed. "Didn't mean to scare you."

Taking a deep breath, Daryl looked up and into a pair of bright green eyes staring down at him. He dug the bottom of his palms into his own eyes, trying to force clarity into them because he must still be dreaming, no one could have eyes like that. Lowering his hands, he took the rest of her in; dark hair pulled together in a loose braid, button nose, and a full, pouty mouth rounded out her high cheek bones and dimpled chin. And those eyes. Those incredible, intense green eyes, he thought, like a cat.

"Are you ok?" she spoke, sliding her manicured hands into the pockets of her dark blue scrubs. Daryl suddenly realized his mouth was hanging open. "Yeah, I'm a...I'm Daryl. That's me." Heat crawled up the sides of his face as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well first, you're brother is ok," she began. " He had a little accident hunting." This was new. "Nothing major, he was shot in the foot but it was more of a graze. The bullet missed the major tendons and nerves, so he should be up in no time." She smiled, turning on the tips of her white clogs. "But for now follow me. You're brother is asking for you." Daryl nodded, standing in one fluid movement as he followed cat eyes out of the waiting room.

They rode the elevator up to the fifth floor in silence. Daryl concentrated on his boots as cat eyes flipped through a file she had snatched from the counter at the nurse's station on their way to the elevator. He wanted to say something, anything to get her talking, hear that music play in her voice again, but he came up empty. Instead he concentrated on her scent, something floral, jasmine maybe, that would waft his way every time she'd look up, or twirl the end of her braid through her fingers. He inhaled deeply, letting her aroma fill his lungs and his belly, amazed at how a person could smell so good.

The elevator dinged their arrival and she took a step forward as the doors slid open. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "This way." Daryl quickly looked down at his boots again as he followed her feet out onto the fifth floor.

Making a left, then another quick left, they were immediately in Merle's room.

"Here he is," she said, stopping at the edge of Merle's bed.

"Why thank you Ms. Tammy," Merle muttered, eyes glazed over, a thin line of drool seeping out the corner of his mouth. "Aren't you just the sweetest thing?"

"I am," she replied, flipping open the folder again, examining some small print written inside. "Oh my, and you will be too on this dosage." She closed the folder and turned to Daryl. "If there's anything you want, I'd ask now."

Daryl jammed his calloused hands into his pants pockets and shook his head. "Nah..."

Tammy looked from the patient to the brother and then down at her shoes, the only sounds in the room emanating from the various machines and Merle's inaudible mumbles. "Well, I'll leave you two alone." Walking past Daryl, she lightly slapped him with the folder on the side of his arm. The heat crept further up his cheeks as he turned and watched her disappear around the corner.

What was wrong with him? He wasn't normally comfortable around women but he'd never been this uneasy around them either. Unable to speak, and the few words he did manage to squeak out made him sound like a complete idiot. It had to be the situation, he was nervous, for Merle. He wasn't thinking straight, that's all. Plus she definitely wasn't from around here, just completely out of his league. She was too pretty, too nice, too well-maintained, definitely not like the women he'd known in his life, and certainly not like the women Merle tended to bring home a little too often. He didn't need to be thinking about her. His brother was lying in front of him, drooling and completely out of it with a bullet hole in his foot, and he was worried if she thought he was a moron or not. Shaking his head, he pulled up the only other seat in the room next to his brother's bed and sat down.

"She's so nice," Merle uttered, a dumb smile playing across his lips. "I like her."

Daryl looked towards the door, satisfied that it was void of any eavesdroppers or nurses with dimpled chins. He brought his attention back to Merle. "I do too."

"For Chrissakes," Merle shouted, whipping his IV line at the male nurse. "Is everyone here a moron? I'm in pain, goddamnit, I need more morphine!"

It was day three and according to Tammy, they were weaning Merle off the morphine and onto something lighter, but Merle wouldn't hear of it.

"Where's that other chick? The one with half a brain?" Merle jerked his foot a little too hard, sending a painful jolt up his leg. "Goddamnit! Give me something man! I've been shot!"

"Merle! Calm down," Daryl snagged the IV line from Merle's hand, stepping between his brother and the now agitated nurse. "He's just doing his job. Let him-"

"What the hell is going on here?" Tammy said, stalking into the room. Daryl opened his mouth to speak but Merle beat him to it.

"It's about damn time," Merle shook Daryl and the male nurse off, grabbing at his IV drip, nearly sending the entire thing crashing onto the floor. "Fix this!"

"Aww, Mr. Dixon, what's wrong?" Tammy walked over to the side of Merle's bed, without fear, and with purpose. She was about half Merle's size but if a fight broke out between the two, Daryl would have put his money on her. "Are you in a bit of pain?"

"What do you think, cupcake?"

"I think that I can easily call for a catheter and make the rest of your stay completely unpleasant if you don't stop being a douche bag and start treating my staff with a little respect."

Daryl coughed, hoping that was enough to stifle the laugh that almost escaped his throat. Tammy looked over her shoulder at him and smiled, letting it linger a moment before returning to her patient. "Alright Mr. Dixon," She began adjusting the drip on Merle's IV bag. "this should help." Almost immediately Merle's limbs relaxed and his breathing stabilized. His eyes began to droop a bit as a grin played around his mouth. "Better?"

Merle nodded, an exaggerated movement and placed his arms behind his head. "Much darlin'."

"Great," She turned and took a step towards Daryl, lowering her voice. "Are you sure you two are related?"

Suddenly becoming overly aware of his hands, he shoves them in his pockets again. "Yes, ma'am."

She chuckled as she patted his shoulder. "Good luck with that." Tammy shot Merle one last glance before exiting the room, the jaded male nurse filing out behind her.

Daryl looked down at his shoulder, reveling in her electric touch, concentrating on the sensation of it through his jacket, her scent filling his nostrils. She had barely touched him and it was all he could think about. She was all he could think about. For the past few days, he had done nothing but think about Nurse Tammy and her jasmine- scented skin, along with her cat eyes and the way she bit the corner of her lip every time she wrote something down in Merle's chart. Or the way she always managed to touch him in some way before she left the room.

"Hello?" Merle sang, following it up with a snicker. "You in there, baby brother?"

"Yeah, sorry," Daryl said, pulling up the chair again. "How you feeling?"

"Better, I guess, ever since Nurse Niceass did her job," Merle settled back into his pillow. Daryl's blood boiled every time Merle referred to Tammy with one of his custom nicknames. He pictured himself slamming his brother across his cheek. "But it'll have to do."

"Don't call her that,'' Daryl said.

"What?," Merle said, gingerly closing his eyes. "What do you care?"

Daryl closed his eyes for a second, open and closing his hands on his lap. "I don't, I just...she just helped you. Don't call her that."

"Whatever."

The next two hours passed without incident. Merle was in and out of consciousness almost as much as Daryl was in and out of his seat. Wasn't she coming back? Doesn't she have to check on Merle? Daryl walked over to the doorway and leaned against the frame. Different faces having different conversations passed the doorway, all oblivious to his presence, almost as much as he was to theirs. He only cared to see one particular face, hear one particular voice.

"Need anything?" Daryl called over his shoulder while continuing to search the hallway.

"Nah, I'm alright." Merle replied in a half yawn.

The tension grew in his jaw at his brother's words. He couldn't go out there without a reason.

"You sure you don't need anything? Some water? Coffee? Uh...cookie or somethin' like that?"

Merle sat up, placing his arms on either side of his lap for support. "A cookie?" He cocked his head to the side as he stared at his brother's back. "Oh I get it," Merle smiled at his revelation. "You got a thing for that hot piece," Daryl turned his head, his brother in his periphery. "Aww, how sweet, my baby brother got hisself a crush."

"I think she turned your dosage up a little too high," Daryl said, chewing on a loose piece of skin on his bottom lip. " You're delusional."

Merle laughed again, bringing his hands together in a loud clap. "Yeah, yeah right," Merle straightened up and continued staring at Daryl's back." Sure, I'll take a cookie, cookie."

Daryl looked over his shoulder just in time to catch Merle wink at him. Daryl stepped out into the hallway and followed the sign to the cafeteria. "Shut up, Merle."

Daryl brought the wildflowers to his nose and took a deep breath. They held a light scent but he picked them because of their vivid colors. Bright pinks, blues, and yellows, each flower unique and with an interesting shape. He liked them...but maybe she wouldn't like them. Maybe they were too odd a shape. Maybe she liked things to be a little more uniform like roses. They definitely weren't roses. Why didn't he just get roses? She deserved roses, but for the time being these would have to do.

Daryl sat in the waiting room directly by the nurse's station, his eyes drifting up to the clock. It was 7:45 a.m. She would be starting her shift in fifteen minutes so he had fifteen minutes to stew in his seat and go over every possible scenario of how his confession could play out. But uncharacteristically, he chose to stick with the positive one. The one where it didn't matter who he was, that he wasn't a doctor or a lawyer. The one where she liked him for him despite what everyone else thought.

He looked up at the clock: 7:59 a.m. She would be walking down the hallway at any moment. Daryl wiped his sweaty palms against the side of his legs for the umpteenth time. He stood up, no - sat down, no - stood up, yes, standing is better, and walked over to the entrance of the waiting room. He watched the morning march of the hospital staff begin; doctors, nurses, people in expensive suits sipping expensive cups of coffee all shuffled their way past him, not a one acknowledging his presence. No one ever really acknowledged his presence, not the way she did anyway. There could be at least five other people in the room with him and she would always say something to him first and always with a smile on her perfect lips. Daryl found a smile replacing his smirk, and this time, he didn't try to stop it.

Daryl waited, his nerves poking at his guts, his insides buzzing uncontrollably. Any minute now she would turn the corner and head his way. Any minute now. Any. Minute. Now.

Leaning back, Daryl looked up at the clock; it was ten after eight. She was late. Maybe she called out today. It would figure that she would choose to be sick today, when he had finally found enough nerve to tell her how he felt.

Daryl stepped out into the hallway and walked to the nurse's station, where an older woman with a tight bun high on top of her head, sat. She would know if he was wasting his time waiting around.

"Excuse me ma'am, could you tell me if, " a familiar laugh reverberated around his head. The contagious melodic sound he'd come to know well echoed down the hall. The smile returned to his face; she had come in after all. Waving off the nurse, Daryl took a deep breath, smelled the flowers once more, and proceeded past the nurse's station towards her voice. Rounding the corner, he caught sight of Tammy walking arm and arm with a tall man in a white lab coat. Daryl ducked behind a half open door and watched as they turned towards each other. A few more words were exchanged between the two before she stood on her toes, threw her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

Daryl's stomach churned, the nervous energy he felt only moments earlier, giving way to sunken pit in his core. She looked so...happy, so complete standing next to this man. Someone who was obviously her equal. How could he have thought for one second that he was good enough for her? That she would be interested in a backwoods redneck like him?

The permanent scowl replaced the smile on his face as he snuck towards the elevator, mere feet from the happy couple. Punching the up button, Daryl concentrated on the closed doors before him, trying to drown out the cheeriness in the voices that were almost directly behind him. He was so stupid. The only saving grace was he hadn't had the chance to make a fool out of himself by revealing his feelings and giving her the...flowers. Looking down, the flowers were still in his hand, the delicate buds crushed under his grip. As the doors quietly hissed open, Daryl tossed the flowers into the garbage can underneath the button console and entered the elevator without looking back.

The chime announced his arrival at the fifth floor and as the doors parted, he was greeted with his brother's smirking face. "Guess what, little brother? I am getting out of this hell hole. Take me home!" Tossing his duffle bag at Daryl, Merle hobbled onto the elevator on his new crutches.

Catching the bag with ease, Daryl slid over, making room for his brother. "Perfect."

Daryl hadn't been back in the city since he picked up Merle from the hospital. He had always had a particular disdain for it with its noise, crowds, and artificial everything, but he did enjoy, from time to time, its assortment of themed pubs and sports bars. Maybe it was because they offered more than the rot gut at his local watering hole or because it let him get away from all the small town gossip he had no interest in, either way, if he was in the city, he'd find a new one to inhabit and enjoy killing the next few hours amused by the locals.

But he didn't want to be here today. He didn't want to pick up Merle's prescriptions, and he certainly didn't want to be this close to the hospital. He hadn't stopped thinking about that nurse since he last saw her in the hallway. They way she laughed, smiled, hugged that man like the world was going to end. All those images were all permanently etched into his brain like a tattoo.

That's why after picking up Merle's meds, he found himself in a rinky dink bar aptly named "The Bar" and on his second glass of bourbon. The place was almost an exact replica of Whisky Pete's back home, a bar he and Merle had frequented since Daryl was sixteen. Every surface was made of a dark weathered wood, with badly painted animal portraits on the walls, a stuffed grizzly bear guarding the entrance, all while what passed for country music blared through the speakers. The place reeked of fried food and phantom cigarettes from years of smokers, but he found that part comforting.

A group of twenty-something's in posh suits at the other end of the bar laughed at something he imagined was not nearly as funny as they pretended it to be. They didn't seem like the types that would hang out in a place like this but once he examined the other occupants of the bar, he, in his faded motorcycle jacket, jeans, and riding boots, quickly realized he was the odd man out. He guessed this was what passed for "southern" life to the well-off but he found it tacky. At least at Whisky Pete's, local residents had donated most of what hung in the place, making it a community effort. Here, someone had done this on purpose.

After another bubble-gum pop country song started playing, he decided he'd had enough. Daryl stood, reached into his pocket and slapped a few bills onto the counter top when someone sidled up next to him. "Well if it isn't baby brother."

Daryl turned towards the voice and found cat eyes staring at him, a grin playing on her full lips. "You left without saying goodbye." She pulled out the barstool next to him and sat down. "It's alright. You can make it up to me by buying me a drink."

Daryl's heart fluttered wildly as she stared at him, smiling from her seat, every nerve electrified and buzzing underneath his skin. Of course he thought about her the moment he knew he was headed to Atlanta, but he never thought he would actually bump into her, especially in a place like this. He wanted to talk to her, tell her everything he was thinking, everything he felt, but nothing came out. When he didn't respond, she cleared her throat and looked at the wrinkled singles on the bar. "Oh, you're going to need a lot more than that. I've had a rough day."

Daryl sat down again, his mouth suddenly dry, and wagged his finger at the bartender. "Whatever she wants," he lifted up his empty glass and shook it. "And another one of these."

"Whatever's on tap," Tammy told the bartender as she shrugged off her coat and placed it on her lap. She turned towards Daryl and crossed her legs, undoing the braid in her hair. "How's your brother?"

"Alright," Daryl said, giving a nod in her direction. He caught sight of her hair, now loose and framing her face in soft waves. His heart caught in his throat as she ran her thin fingers through it. "Thanks for...for taking care of him."

"It's my job but honestly if he had stayed a day longer I might have killed him," she laughed as the bartender set their drinks before them. She picked up her glass and clinked it against his. "Cheers." They both take a sip. "And if it weren't for you, I probably would have killed him."

Daryl didn't know how to take that. He quickly took another sip, letting the bourbon sit on his tongue before swallowing. "A lot of people feel that way about Merle."

Tammy shook her head. " I don't doubt it. He's not afraid to say what's on his mind and I'm sure that pisses off a lot of folks. Now you on the other hand, you I can't figure out."

He looked at her now. "Me?"

"Yes you," she tilted her head to the side, not taking her eyes off of him. "You two just seem so...different. You barely left his side. Whenever I would pass by, you were either fluffing his pillow or asleep in the chair, even when he was less than...receptive."

"I don't think I fluffed his pillow," Daryl shrugged, "but he's my brother." He said it as a statement of fact, as if everyone treated their siblings that way, even though he knew damn well Merle wouldn't have been as attentive if the roles had been reversed. But then again, he wasn't Merle. "How else should I have behaved?"

She smiled wide, dimples played deep in her cheeks. "Whatever comes natural I suppose."

Bringing the glass to his lips, he paused before taking a sip. "I'm just me." Daryl didn't see why she was making such a big deal. Why did she care how two backwoods brothers acted towards each other? Hell, had they passed each other on the street, she probably wouldn't have given them the time of day. She was just being polite, that's it. He needed to realize that Doctor Dope was a better fit for her than he could ever be. He wondered if they were as happy as they were in that hallway those few weeks ago. If he still made her laugh that laugh and smile that smile. She deserved nothing less.

"I think that's what I like most about you, no pretenses," she said it as easily as if she was commenting on the weather. " You're like this...warm place. That spot that warms you up from head to toe when you come in from the cold." Daryl didn't know where to look. "And of course your eyes are pretty awesome too." He couldn't have heard her right. She finished the rest of her beer in one swig and slid her coat back on. "Honestly though, I don't want to have to tell our children that we had our first date in a bar so..." She hopped off the stool, snatched a pen from her purse and scrawled across a napkin she acquired from behind the bar and handed it to him. "So use that, ok. Maybe we can do something Friday?"

Daryl looked down at the napkin; her name and number were written in bubbly letters and numbers. Anger flashed behind his eyes. He didn't like being played with. "What is this? Are you slumming or somethin'?"

Her smile faded as he stood up. "Excuse me?"

He leaned against the edge of the stool, studying the writing on the napkin. "This just don't make no kind of sense, " he looked up at her again. "What are you doing?"

"Well," she said sheepishly. "I thought it was kind of obvious."

Daryl shook his head, his patience waning. "Aren't you seeing someone?"

She folded her arms across her a chest. "I am?"

Daryl took a step towards her, the embers in his stomach crackling to a full on fire. "Yes, Merle's last day at the hospital, I saw...Merle and me, we, saw you hugging on that doctor. Looked like it was going to take a crowbar to separate you two."

Tammy's brow creased as she turned away from him, her eyes seemingly searching the floor for the scene Daryl had just described. Daryl stared at her, waiting for her explanation, the words that would finish crushing his hopes of any chance with her. After what seemed like forever, she finally looked up at him, her eyes wide and her voice a couple of octaves higher than he'd ever heard it. "Oh! Dr. Cook!"

Daryl watched her closely, trying to find the sense in the words that just spilled out of her mouth. Tammy stood in front of him with her arms outstretched, shaking her head. "It's Dr. Cook!"

"I don't know what that means."

"That day, a few weeks ago, had to be around the time Merle checked out of the hospital," she spoke rapidly with her hands. "Dr. Cook is my friend's fiancé. He proposed that day. You must have seen me congratulating him," she tilted her chin up, her eyes mere slits. "If you're going to spy on me, at least get your information straight."

Daryl felt a mixture of relief and dread. He hadn't pictured it quite like this but here it was, the girl that had occupied his mind for the past few weeks, telling him everything he thought, was wrong, revealing that he had wasted time assuming, and not enough time finding out for sure. There was nothing keeping him from telling her how he felt. But still...he found the words falling from his mouth before he could stop them. "Now I really don't understand. You're smart, pretty, funny, " he roughly rubbed the back of his neck. "What the hell do you see in me?"

The smile returned to her face, lighting it up again. She took a step towards him and placed a hand on his bristly cheek. "Everything." She stepped back, grabbed her purse from the counter, and walked towards the exit. She called over her shoulder. "Talk to you soon, Daryl Dixon."

A low rumble in the west brings Daryl to the present. The dull morning sky gives way to fat, black clouds pregnant with moisture, promising the scorched earth a badly needed soaking. He looks towards the barn, his vision blurred by a thin stream of tears, and still sees no sign of Rick. He stands and rests his elbows against the banister, not trusting his knees won't give out on him as his mind continues its assault, forcing memories upon him he has refused to think about. He closes his eyes and she's there, beckoning him to spend just a little more time...

Daryl Dixon called Tammy Lee the moment he got home. The first phone call led to a first date, which led to a second, and a third, until finally, Daryl and Tammy were officially attached at the hip. He thought her as amazing as he had pictured; no-nonsense, clever, and with as dry a sense of humor that matched his perfectly. She was wonderful.

He often caught himself staring at her when she talking on the phone, watching TV curled up next to him, or even just standing there lost in thought. He couldn't believe someone so beautiful could exist, never mind care for him. The months passed in a blur of late night conversations, long weekends, and countless hours lost in the bedroom. Daryl never thought he could be that happy, that content, until, once again, Tammy found yet another way to make his life complete.

"I have to tell you something," Tammy said, her words muffled by Daryl's lips. It was minutes after dawn, the quiet of the morning normally gave way to her usual frantic dash to get out of the house, as he watched, laughing. But today was different, she hesitated, the bed sheets unable to hide her fidgeting hands underneath. As she tossed the covers to the side, he pulled her on top of him, only thin layers of clothing separating them. Daryl placed his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her towards him, kissing her deeply. He stopped for only a moment. "Ok, sure sure."

She pulled away, slid off of him and onto her side, her eyes brimmed over. Confused, Daryl grabbed her hand. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Tammy continued to look away from him, her chin was trembling, tears streamed down her cheeks, but a smile began to form on her lips. She looked at him. "I'm pregnant."

He couldn't have heard her right. "What?"

Tammy sat cross-legged in front of him and squeezed his hand. "I know it's a lot to take in. I know it is. It was a complete surprise to me too but...I want to keep it. I mean, it's us, you know? You and me, together. I know it's a lot of pressure, probably the last thing you expected, or wanted, I mean I was terrified when I found out but," Tammy stared at Daryl, his mouth slightly open, eyes wide. "If you think differently, if you don't want it-"

Daryl sat up and threw his arms around Tammy, hugging her tightly. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it. He rolled her onto her back, covering her face with a million kisses before finally meeting her lips. "A baby? With me?"

Tammy laughed. "Yes, Daryl Dixon, with you."

His cheeks ached from the broad smile on his face. "I love you." Daryl kissed down her neck, passed her breasts, and rested his lips on her stomach, planting a great big kiss on her belly. " And I love you too, little ass kicker."

The world was dangerously different than it was a few months ago, Daryl felt it, he knew it wasn't a typical outbreak of the flu or some other disease they could eradicate quickly. No, this was something else completely, and Tammy was in the middle of it.

Daryl sat in front of the TV, his brother Merle camped in the Lazyboy next to him. Every channel had been taken over by some overdone news anchor detailing the latest on the "deadly" outbreak. With all their education and training, Daryl thought they could have found another word to use other than "deadly"; it made him uneasy.

"They are going to feel so stupid once this is all over," Merle said, opening his third beer. "This ain't nothing more than a bad cold."

Daryl shot his brother a dirty look. How could he possibly think that? Tammy's hours at the hospital had doubled in the past few weeks, and when she finally would make it home, she couldn't help but describe the chaos she had witnessed throughout her day; every room filled with multiple patients, tents set up in the parking lot and surrounding areas, and every man, woman, and child afflicted with the same symptoms. Doctors were baffled and had no explanation, and worse yet, no cure.

Daryl looked up at the clock, almost 7:00 p.m. and knew the phone call was coming. She would be late again. The phone mocked him and rang at 7:01. He jumped out of his chair and walked over to the phone.

"Again?" He said into the receiver, not hiding his annoyance.

"Hello to you," the soft voice on the other end replied. "I don't have a choice, Daryl. Three of my people didn't show up for their shift and it's a madhouse down here. It's just so much worse than it's been."

Daryl wanted to scream but fought the urge and settled for a loud exhale. "That's why you need to come home. That's no place for you and little ass kicker." He paused and turned towards the television, trying to make sense of the pictures flashing across the screen in maniacal camera angles; people running in every direction, practically trampling over each other. The scene changed quickly to a panned shot of car fires, rolling military trucks, and still bodies in the street. His stomach sank to his toes. "I'm coming to get you."

"Daryl, no," Tammy huffed into the phone. "They need me. I can't leave."

"I don't care what they need," Daryl reached for his boots and shoved them onto his feet. "You're coming home."

"Don't waste your time. I'm not leaving. I need to be here, please understand that."

"Then I'll just throw you over my shoulder and carry you out."

"Daryl," Tammy trailed off, her voice mixed in with the background of alarms, shouting, and muffled cries. "Daryl, I love you."

Pressure built behind his eyes and in his throat. That was the last thing he wanted to hear. "I need to see you."

"I have to go," she laughed lightly into the phone, the sound void of its usual melody. "Talk to you soon, Daryl Dixon."

Daryl slammed the phone down repeatedly, nearly shattering the yellow casing. He turned to find his brother standing right behind him, truck keys in his hand.

"Well let's go get her then."

It took less than 24 hours for the world to completely implode. Every road leading anywhere, was littered with vehicles, thick black smoke billowed into the skies, stores and gas stations were ransacked and empty, and the dead had come back to life overtaking the living. Daryl and Merle never made it into the city and came no where near the hospital.

The Dixon residence sat atop a small hill that was flanked by lush Georgia woods. It had been nothing more than a one bedroom cabin Daryl had purchased, but with the help of his brother, and two years worth of countless trips to the lumber yard and a lot of landscaping, the labor of love turned into a three bedroom home they were extremely proud of.

The sun had barely eclipsed the horizon but already the air sweltered. Daryl paced the length of the dirt driveway and looked towards the road, the sound of a labored engine rounded the bend. He stalked towards the faded blue pickup as it rolled forward, Merle behind the wheel. "Where the hell you been?"

Merle cut the engine and hopped out. "I made a run for supplies. Man, it's worse out there than yester-," without a word, Daryl snatched the keys from his brother and loaded the bed of the truck with a few shotguns, extra bullets, and a backpack filled with medical supplies.

"What are you doing?" Merle spoke up as Daryl picked up his crossbow from the front porch and made a beeline for the truck.

"What do you think?" Daryl threw the crossbow onto the passenger seat and went to hop in.

"You aren't going to find her," Merle stepped in front of Daryl and blocked him from the driver's seat. "Even if you managed to make it into the city, it's so overrun with those...those things, you wouldn't make it one block inside, " Merle shook his head. "Take a look around you, baby brother. The world is going to hell. We need to stick together now and I ain't going back."

Selfish, selfish son of a bitch! Daryl felt as if he was on fire. "Get out of my way, Merle."

Merle saw his brother's limbs shaking and decided to try another approach. "Listen," Merle reached for Daryl but he backed up just out of reach. "Where do you think she is?"

"I don't know that's why I'm looking."

"Don't you think she would have found her way back by now?"

Daryl resumed his pacing, his hands balled into fists. He kept his eyes on Merle as he opened his mouth, careful to enunciate every word to ensure his brother understood. "Get out of my way."

"No. It's too dangerous," Merle raised his hands up. "You don't know what it's like out there. I barely made it back. I won't let you go." Merle kept his hands out in front of him as Daryl continued to stare him down.

"Move!" Daryl growled, the word hung in the air and dripped with vitriol.

Merle swallowed hard, the sound rough in his ears. "It'll do you no good. I saw her."

Daryl stopped pacing and gawked at Merle . "Wha-, what? You saw her? When?! Where?! Tell me!"

Instantly Merle wished he could have taken back the words. "Yes, I mean I think I did."

Daryl rushed his brother and slammed him against the truck door. " You think you saw her or you saw her?"

Merle shook violently under Daryl's grip, his words coming out in rushed gasps. "She wasn't her...she was one of those things...I was in town...grabbing what I could...for us...I was alone for the most part when this woman shuffled out into the street...there was blood...she was covered...I thought I recognized her but it was hard to tell. She started walking towards me but I knew she wasn't right."

Daryl lowered his face within inches of his brother's. "Where, Merle? What street? What store?"

Merle stared up at his younger brother, barely recognizing the man in front of him. " I don't know, man."

Daryl yanked his brother up by the collar of his shirt and hurled orders at him. "Move."

Merle stood his ground. "No."

"MOVE!" Daryl shouted as he shoved his brother against the truck again. "Move or-"

"Or what?" Merle yelled back, his hands out to his sides. "You'll kill me?"

Daryl took a few steps back and lifted a loaded rifle out of the bed of the truck. He aimed it at his brother and barked. "Don't think I won't do it! Don't think I won't do it!"

Merle's breath caught in his throat as his younger brother pointed a shotgun at him. Shock gave way to certainty as he took in Daryl's shaky stance. Merle smiled at him. "That's fine, you go on and do it. Then go out and get yourself killed looking for a dead woman."

Daryl dropped the gun and charged his brother, repeatedly smashing him against the truck. Merle raised his hands to protect his face, but was unable to block his brother's fists. Daryl wrestled his brother to the ground and ended up on top of him, landing blow after blow, beating his brother bloody. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't speak, he couldn't see past his own bloodied, aching fists. He would beat this man in front of him. He would beat him until he was dead, and then he would be free to go. Free to find what he was looking for, what belonged to him, what he couldn't live without, what he didn't want to live without. He was supposed to be happy, finally after a shit life, he had been happy. Against all odds, she had found him and she had loved him and they were suppose to die together. He could still make it happen. He just had to find her and let the rest take care of itself...

Through his haze and blurred vision, Daryl saw Merle's mouth move. Unable to catch his breath, he lowered his ear to Merle's mouth. "What?" Daryl sobbed. "What?"

Merle gasped through broken teeth and swollen eyes. "It's just the two of us now, little brother. It's just the two of us."

Broken, Daryl crumbled next to his brother and wailed.


End file.
